


Many Broken Things

by aelfwen



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Angst and Tragedy, Azure Moon - Freeform, Byleth won't sleep for 5 years, Canon Divergence - Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd Needs a Hug, Eventual Relationships, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Mercenary shenanigans, RIP Dad, Unresolved Sexual Tension, We'll venture into AU territory, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:20:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29443971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aelfwen/pseuds/aelfwen
Summary: “You can break, or throw yourself away,” Byleth said, her voice thick with emotion. “And if you need to, you can break me too. But please,” she held Dimitri’s face between her hands, hot against cold, “please just take me with you when you go.”She leaned back to search his bright blue eye, a small smile nestling itself in the corners of her mouth. “Or let me follow. Either works.”A heartrending sob tore from him, and he wilted over her shoulder, holding her to him like she was the only thing tethering him to the earth. She gathered him to her as best she could, arms wrapped tightly around the broken prince, fingers tangled in the fur of his great cloak. And she would hold him unto the ends of the earth, if he asked.* * *What if Byleth didn't sleep through those five crucial years, but lost her memory instead?(Song:Let Me Followby Son Lux)
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth, Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 18
Kudos: 77





	1. Skies Crying

**Author's Note:**

> Ty for checking this out :)  
> This is mostly therapeutic logorrhea for me after my first 3H run (Azure Moon, ofc).   
> We're starting pre-timeskip (Cause For Sorrow RIP) and going from there. Hold onto your butts!  
> Would love to hear what you think~
> 
> In this chapter: Byleth borrows something blue.

She knew the rain was cold, but she couldn’t feel it any longer. As gently as she could manage, she slid her numb fingers over Jeralt’s lifeless eyes. When closed, he could have been sleeping.

“Not a great place to take a nap,” she croaked. He would have laughed at that.

Her nose stung and her eyes filled with more tears. They wouldn’t stop coming. And she felt as though she stood on tiptoes at the edge of a blackened pit, with this savage wave of grief threatening to push her in. A pain tore through her chest and she cried out, folding over her father, straining to protect him from the freezing rain, at least.

Dimitri stood yards away, paralyzed. He’d watched his professor sprint to her fallen father, then fall to her knees. She keened like a wounded animal, soft broken sobs that pierced his heart sharper than any arrow. More than anything, he wanted to go to her.

“Your Highness.” Jolted from the pain, Dimitri looked to Dedue, who had returned to his side. His usually calm face was carved into grim, griefstricken lines. “Sylvain and Ingrid have gone to alert the knights.”

Dimitri released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Thank you, Dedue. I’m at a loss...” he trailed off, looking back to their professor.

A sudden wave of shame flooded him. The others were reacting: Mercedes and Annette were attending the wounded, and Flayn was doing her best to comfort the rescued students alongside Ashe. Felix patrolled the perimeter, seemingly unflappable, ever the protector. Sylvain and Ingrid had leapt to action. Yet he, the crown prince of Faerghus, their house leader, could barely manage a step.

_You’re worthless_ , Glenn sneered from over his shoulder, just out of sight.

_No_. He shook his head violently, droplets arcing away from his head. “I’ll go to her,” he said, mostly to himself. His jaw worked as he worked up the resolve. The first steps were the hardest, but then he was running.

A soft thud reawakened her to the world. Dimitri knelt in the mud beside her, close enough that his thigh pressed against hers. For a moment, there was no sound beyond the soft patter of winter rain. Then he held out a hand.

“Professor,” he whispered.

Byleth looked up to find her remaining Blue Lions surrounded them, many silently crying. She turned to Dimitri and couldn’t tell if it was just rain running down his face, or if he too cried.

Without hesitating, she grasped his outstretched hand. Warm, even through the thick leather glove. “Thank you,” she managed. Their outpouring of support was too much, on top of everything. She crumpled against him, crying silently and utterly spent.

He was able to pull his cloak free from its clasp and wrap it awkwardly around her, with help from Dedue. After a moment’s hesitation, he let his hand rest on her shoulder – the suggestion of a hug. She leaned heavily against him, tears intermingling with the rain on his chest. One by one, the rest of the class knelt and wrapped their arms as best they could around the pair, and around each other.

\---

Catherine pushed through the underbrush into the chapel clearing, steps ahead of the Blue Lions students who’d brought tragedy in their wake. Rhea was beside herself, but retained the clarity of mind to send her top knights. On the urgent journey there, Catherine mulled over the news. She couldn’t believe it – there was no way the Blade Breaker could be defeated by a mere dagger. They must have been mistaken. She scanned the field briefly –

“Oh no,” she breathed, stricken when she spotted a huddle of students and the prone body at their feet. Sylvain and Ingrid dashed past her, joining the rest of their class in the embrace. Catherine felt her nose sting, and she cleared her throat stifle it.

“Shamir,” she gestured to her partner, who joined her within seconds. “Take your battalion and sweep the area for any stragglers. We may still catch them unawares.”

Shamir nodded and turned on a heel, bow strung and arrow casually at the ready. She signaled to her snipers to disperse, and they melted into the background without a sound.

Catherine took a moment to breathe deep and exhale to reign in her nerves, then strode to the group.

“Students,” she began, “Gather your things to leave and help the injured. We’ll travel back to the monastery as a group. We will protect you,” she said firmly.

As though wakened from sleep, the Blue Lion House students began standing up and melting away from the center where the professor and Jeralt were. Prince Dimitri remained, because he was holding Byleth up as best he could. Catherine suspected it was more than that, based on the impossibly soft, saddened eyes he held on the professor. Those eyes understood her on a visceral level, from shared parallel experiences – a bond of comradeship and beyond that would be hard, if not outright impossible, to break. Catherine could relate.

As she circled, she looked over Jeralt’s body. It was undeniable.

“Damn it,” she hissed through gritted teeth. That startled Byleth, who looked up at Catherine with dazed eyes. “I’m sorry, Professor,” she began, then sighed. “Here — let me help you stand.” Byleth grabbed the arm offered and Catherine pulled her up effortlessly. “Your Highness, could I ask you to escort the professor back to Garreg Mach proper?”

Dimitri nodded, though his eyes remained on Byleth, full of worry. “Of course—“

“I can’t leave him,” Byleth said, still gazing at Jeralt’s body.

“You must have your wounds tended,” the knight replied firmly.

When Byleth didn’t answer, Catherine gripped her by the shoulders, which forced her to look up.

“Byleth, I swear by my love for the goddess, we will take the utmost care of Jeralt. You can go. I wouldn’t lie to you about that, would I?”

The professor’s face crinkled as fresh tears entered her eyes, and she shook her head.

“I trust you,” she murmured, and Catherine’s forceful gaze softened.

“Thank you.” She released Byleth’s shoulders and stepped back slightly in a renewed effort to give her space. Her sky-blue eyes found Dimitri’s. “Your Highness, I’d like to amend what I said earlier. Would you take her straight to the infirmary? Manuela is preparing to receive the injured.”

“At once.” The prince half-bowed to Catherine and offered an arm to his professor.

Byleth looked at it as though it had interrupted a conversation she’d been having with herself, but she took it anyway. She still wore Dimitri’s cloak around her shoulders – it was soaked through. She glanced back at Catherine and Jeralt as they walked back up the path toward the monastery, and the knight replied with a firm nod, praying that she’d reassured the young woman.

She watched them for a few moments, then turned to the body on the ground. A sigh escaped her as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

“I’m so sorry, my friend.”

With a single sweep of her arm, the knights under her command sprang to action, starting work on a makeshift travois to bring the Blade Breaker home.


	2. Home Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They secretly enjoy the walk back, despite the circumstances.

On the short walk back to the officer’s academy, Dimitri couldn’t help but fume about the turn of recent events. Lonato’s betrayal, Flayn’s kidnapping, and Jeralt’s murder all seemed connected to this mysterious group who had somehow infiltrated the church without a scrap of resistance. All attempts to investigate or capture them had failed. But none of it made sense, and he grew angrier the more he thought about it. His jaw worked fiercely and his eyes grew thunderous. The Flame Emperor –

“Dimitri?” Her voice snapped him out of his reverie. “You’re scowling,” she observed.

He was glad to hear her speaking again, and noted her tears had dried, for now. “Was I? I apologize, Professor.” He sighed, squinting ahead. “I am truly sorry.”

“I know. I can’t thank you enough,” she said quietly.

“For what?”

“For being here for me, always.”

“Oh, well, it’s the least that I can do. You’re –” he paused. What did she mean to him, in truth? “Important to me—er, to us—All the Blue Lions, I mean.” The others trailed closely behind them, some in muted conversations of their own, but most were silent – perhaps listening to the professor.

She was quiet for a while, and when Dimitri chanced a sidelong glance, he noticed she looked peaceful – he could’ve sworn the ghost of a smile dwelt in the corners of her mouth. “I’m glad I chose your house to teach.”

“Wait, you _chose_ us?” Dimitri had always been under the impression that it had been the luck of the draw. Manuela and Hanneman were great instructors, but after he fought bandits alongside Byleth that fateful day, he felt strangely connected to her. Peculiar feelings rolled around his chest at the notion that she’d felt the same. Pride washed over him, and he straightened a little.

“Of course,” she replied, matter-of-fact. “As a mercenary, physical prowess was chiefly important to me, and your house has the strongest warriors.” She cast a glance backward towards her other students, “But after getting to know you all, I realized that’s not your true strength.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes. You love each other dearly,” she remarked, “And although your trust is hard earned, once a person gains it, your loyalty is unbreakable. I admire that about you all.”

Dimitri felt his cheeks redden. It was the kindest thing anyone had told him in a while. “Professor, I… thank you. For choosing us.”

She squeezed his arm in reply, and her breast abruptly pushed against his upper arm. The sensation shot up into his chest like static sparks. His heart stuttered.

Some yards behind them, Annette and Mercedes trudged through the muddy ruts of the highway, trailed by Flayn and the rescued students. “You know, Annie, I just had the strangest thought,” Mercedes said, staring at the two ahead.

“What about?” Annette asked distractedly as her shoe threatened to embed itself in the deep mud.

“I know it’s not the right time to be thinking about things like this…” She lowered her voice, “but the professor and Prince Dimitri would make a handsome couple.”

Annette gaped at her. “What?!”

Mercedes held a finger to her lips, a silent reminder to stay quiet, and Annette’s mouth snapped shut. “I told you it was strange,” the 23-year old murmured. “But he’s obviously got a crush on her.”

Annette gripped her best friend’s arm as she yanked her foot free, accompanied by a loud squelch. “You really think so?” Mercedes raised her eyebrows at her younger friend’s naive question. “Maybe you’re right, but – that’s just inappropriate, Mercie!” she whispered fiercely.

“I heard that they went to the Goddess Tower together at the Winter Ball,” the white mage confided.

Annette’s blue eyes grew even wider. “I didn’t know that.” Her tone was a touch accusatory. Mercedes ignored that, and the younger girl continued, “If that’s really the case—I think you’re right. His Highness is so handsome it hurts… and the Professor is beautiful and regal, in her own way. I wouldn’t know she was a commoner, if she hadn’t told us.”

“Exactly! Plus, we won’t be in school forever,” Mercedes said breezily. “I could see him proposing at the millennial festival, five years from now.”

“Oooh, that would be so romantic and grand! I can see it now: petals and garlands dancing through the air while the King of Faerghus confesses his love to the professor, right in front of the Goddess Tower.” Annette sighed dreamily at the image she’d conjured, and her eyes sparkled. “Like out of a fairytale.”

Mercedes smiled. “You have the best imagination. Sometimes it’s nice to dream about good things that could happen in the future…” she trailed off, brow furrowing.

Annette’s face fell, and her chin trembled. “Especially on a day like today.”

Mercedes hummed a solemn agreement. “You just get me, Annie.”

Inwardly, Dimitri was back to fighting a conflagration of emotions. Chiefly, the all-too-familiar shock and horror of witnessing someone he’d seen as un-killable be – well – _killed,_ but others began welling up in his chest. Anger at the apparent impotence of the church authorities to deal with those who’d perpetrated so much against them. Old feelings of shame and guilt resurfacing. And most irritatingly, a tiny yet inexhaustible spark of joy at being able to walk with the professor like this.

He supported her by the arm, but support wasn’t the right word – she could walk perfectly fine. Despite this, she clung to him tightly, as though she’d float away otherwise. He could feel the heat of her hand through his sleeve.

The wintry sun was searing away the rain clouds, and scant rays began dappling the hills again. He could almost pretend they were elsewhere, else _when_ , on a day before this one – or long after, once wounds had due time to fade. It was indulgent, and he felt a bit stupid for even thinking it. But the professor’s hand on his arm made him think strange things.

They were on the outskirts of the monastery’s front gates when Byleth stopped dead, gently pulling her arm from Dimitri’s. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t think I can go in there,” she admitted, eyes downcast.

He looked back and forth between her and the wrought-iron gate, confused – then it dawned on him. Being the close-knit community that it was, news tended to spread through the monastery like wildfire, and bad news got around the fastest. The busy lower market would be abuzz with whispers as soon as she stepped onto the central causeway.

He put a hand to his chin and tucked his other one beneath the opposite elbow, a position he often assumed when deep in thought. “Understood. We’ll just have to find another way,” he said, brow crinkled with determination.

Dedue, ever his silent shadow, stepped forward. “Your Highness, if I may.” Dimitri nodded, and the Duscurian continued. “There is a servants’ entrance to the west of the gate – we should be able to enter there with little disturbance.”

Dimitri’s eyes widened. “Of course! It’s used mostly for greenhouse deliveries, yes?” His retainer nodded, and the prince pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Dedue, tell the rest of the class to continue up the main road – I’ll take the professor in through the back door, so to speak. With your permission, of course,” he added hastily, looking to Byleth.

She had an odd look on her face – despite her muted expressions, he could see a mixture of relief in her relaxed brow and remnant sadness in the corners of her mouth, yet her eyes shone with pride.

“Good plan,” she said. Unbidden warmth bloomed in his chest.

* * *

The impromptu diversion worked; as the bulk of the class streamed through the main entrance and attracted the attention of the monastery dwellers, the prince and his professor snuck in unnoticed through the small, nondescript door at the base of the wall abutting the western hill. They ducked beneath the large leaves of palms and monstera as though traversing a surreal tropical land, and padded up the narrow lane between the greenhouse and pond.

No one was in the courtyard near the fishing pond or on the second landing outside the cafeteria, but they could hear the concerned hubbub from the nearby market as the other Blue Lions made their way towards the entrance hall. They cut through the dormitory lawns and around the back of the classrooms, and besides shocking a couple students with their disheveled appearances, they made it to the infirmary without incident.

Some of the others beat them there. Ingrid had sustained a shallow cut on her side, and she was stubbornly batting Sylvain’s hand away as he attempted to help her to a cot. One of the Golden Deer students they’d rescued had been smacked around by a demonic beast before they could get to him – he likely had a concussion. A first-year from Blue Lions had a dislocated shoulder.

Manuela was a force to be reckoned with when she was in her element. She’d conscripted Marianne, Mercedes and Linhardt to aid with the sudden overflow of patients, saying it was good practice for them. “You,” she barked at Byleth, who’d been standing uselessly in the doorway. “Get in bed – that’s an order.”

Byleth knew better than to argue with the master healer at a time like this, despite not feeling injured much at all. As soon as she sank against the pillows, she winced as her midsection twinged.

“Professor?” Dimitri grew alarmed when he saw her pained grimace.

Manuela bustled over without a second wasted. “Lean forward, please, like you’re reaching for your toes,” she said. She sketched a quick glyph in the air and glided her glowing hands over her fellow professor’s body. “Ah, I see. My dear, I’ll need to get a closer look at your back. Off with the armor!” She cast a pointed glance at Dimitri. “If you wouldn’t mind—?”

Color blotched the high points of his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “Oh! Yes, I’ll go then,” he said lamely. He turned on a heel to leave, but his sleeve snagged on something.

No, Byleth had grabbed it in passing from her awkward position. “Dimitri, your cloak.” She gingerly pulled it from her shoulders and carefully folded it in her lap before handing it over. “Thank you,” she murmured. She appeared to be retreating inward – her eyes had grown dull again, like they’d been back at the chapel.

He didn’t trust himself to speak. He simply nodded, then left the infirmary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've already hit 17 pages on the doc babyyyy!! Let me know what you think so far <3


	3. Life Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth reads the whole damn thing (well, almost).
> 
> A/N: dropping this chapter early since I'll be on break next week :) enjoy!

The first week after Jeralt died, Byleth found it difficult to concentrate on her job. Between Monday lectures and Sunday free time, she drifted the halls like a specter, faintly returning a greeting if someone was brave enough to say hello. It was more often that they weren’t – and many opted to turn to a friend and whisper something in passing, lips hidden by a hand and eyes peering after her.

She could tell that her students were worried about her. Felix stopped pestering her to train, which was incredibly unusual. Ashe and Ingrid kept inviting her to meals with them, and Annette and Mercedes baked her more treats than she knew what to do with; she still had two baskets full of scones and tarts sitting on her dresser. Sylvain left flowers in her room, _twice_ ; Dedue insisted on taking over her allotment of greenhouse duties. And Dimitri... the dark smudges under his eyes that first appeared after the Remire incident were only darker, and she could feel his eyes on her whenever they shared a room.

Their attention made her uncomfortable. Guilty, even. So she’d begun avoiding them outside of class. The past few days, she found herself standing beside Jeralt’s freshly marked grave for long periods of time, wondering if she could have done something differently.

Sothis had been quick to chide her for that foolish train of thought, but Byleth couldn’t help returning to it. She knelt and placed her hand-grown gladiolus and lilies at the base of the gravestone, wincing at the pile of flowers and keepsakes people had continued leaving. She rubbed the dirt and grit away from her mother’s name and birthdate. _Sitri Eisner, 1139-1159._ At the end of this month, she realized she would be older than her mother ever had been. The thought made her queasy.

It also made her eyes drift, over and over again, to the worn leather-bound journal she’d taken to carrying around.

* * *

She was grading papers in the cafeteria – it was growing dark outside. The candelabra around her were burning low. The only other source of light was the banked fire in the kitchens, which cast a faint reddish-orange glow over her sharpened features. More than ever, she looked like a ghost in the dim, chilly hall. There were still a few people busy with late-night tasks, but most of Garreg Mach had turned in for the night.

She stared at the journal for a long moment. “I guess it’s time,” she whispered. _Father_.

Decisively, Byleth shuffled her students’ papers into a neat pile and set them aside. She then replaced her pen on the mobile lectern stand and picked up the journal.

The spine made a pleasing _crrrrk_ as she bent it open to the first page. _M_ _ight_ _as well start from the beginning_.

The initial entries were smudged and their adjoining pages were rippled and crunchy, as though the book had been dropped in a puddle and hastily picked up. Rather than try to decipher anything and give herself a headache, Byleth flipped forward to the first legible entry. There were no years marked yet, only days.

_Day 14 of the Guardian Moon._

_Snowed a lot today. Not sure what to think of Lady Rhea. According to the captain, she saved my life with her blood, so I owe her a debt. What does that even mean? She requested a meeting today, while we’re still here._

Byleth felt a prickle of exasperation at her father’s wont to describe everything as _little_ as possible. She always felt as though unspoken things were going over her head with her father – especially when it came to his connection to Lady Rhea. Perhaps he would elaborate in later entries. She flipped ahead.

_Day 1 of the Pegasus Moon_.

 _Cloudy. Swore myself into Lady Rhea’s service today – not that I had much choice. She all but demanded I remain, claiming that_ she _owes_ me. _Dunno what to make of that. Can’t remember much about the incident, though._

Incident? Byleth thought hard. Once, when she and Alois were fishing, he’d offhandedly mentioned Jeralt having the blood of a crest-born person. As far as she knew, he didn’t— _hadn’t_ possessed a crest. But he was remarkably long-lived, according to some of the monastery’s lifers. Plus, his strength was unquestionable. She’d never seen his supposed crest activate, though. Despite not knowing with certainty if that sort procedure would even work – one where a crest-born’s blood was used to heal a mortally wounded, non-crested individual – she suspected it was possible. If only because Rhea was so shrouded in mystery, herself.

She regretted not pestering Jeralt for more answers when she had the chance.

“Oh, don’t mope.”

The young woman started so hard she slammed her knees against the sturdy table, and a loud _crack_ burst through the otherwise silent cafeteria. “ _Damn it_ , Sothis! Don’t scare me like that,” she hissed.

“It’s not my fault you’re jumpy,” Sothis pouted, arms folded as she floated above the sputtering candelabra. “Don’t worry, no one’s around to hear.”

Byleth took a deep breath and ignored the girl. She turned a page.

For a while, the entries were mundane and, if Byleth had to be honest, pretty boring. Jeralt adapted to life at the monastery and clambered up the knights’ ranks quickly, despite maintaining his freewheeling mercenary lifestyle – which was mostly limited to drinking a lot and the occasional fling. _Girl was nice to look at and nice in bed, not much beyond that—_ which made her cringe a bit, but it wasn’t atrocious. It was just… Jeralt.

The thought made a corner of her mouth twitch upward. At the same time, she couldn’t think of a single occasion he’d kept a woman around while they were traveling Fódlan as mercenaries. She filed that away for later.

_Day 24 of the Great Tree Moon_.

_Rain. The twerp refuses to leave me alone about lance training. He says the knights have taken to calling me the Blade Breaker. Ridiculous. He also insists that if I want to see a good Faerghusi king on the throne come graduation, he needs battle mastery._

_Day 25 of the Great Tree Moon._

_Storm broke today, mostly sunny. Damn, he really won’t leave me alone. He’s a persuasive young knucklehead. But if I say yes, his little sidekick Rodrigue will demand a lesson, too. And after him, all the other little knight-students and noble brats will be up my ass. I told him I’d think about it._

The entries seemed innocuous at first, but Byleth paused, tapping a finger on her father’s words. Then she gasped, eyes wide. Was he referring to _that_ Rodrigue, as in Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius, the Shield of Faerghus? Then the “twerp” was…

She hastily pulled a sheet of scrap paper from her lectern and dipped her pen in the inkwell, then scribbled:

_Jeralt trained Lambert at officers’ academy?? Maybe Rodrigue too?_

And below that:

_How the hell old is he?_

Leave it to her father to call the King of Faerghus a twerp. She groaned and let her head thump against the table.

Sothis peered over her shoulder. “Oooh, now _that’s_ juicy,” she purred. “Sir Jeralt is as confounding as the night is long, no? Speaking of which,” her skirts fluttered as she swirled around Byleth’s head, “the sun has long since set. Should we not go to bed?”

Byleth stared at her, astonished. “I can’t stop now! Plus, aren’t _you_ the one who never wants the fun to end?”

The smaller woman giggled, “I must concede to your ironclad logic. Just don’t blame me when you feel out of sorts, come the morning.” She faded into Byleth’s periphery.

Soon after, the sound of soft feet on stone pricked her ears. She frowned, sending her orb of light over to the southern door. “Who’s there?”

“Ahh!!” the student squeaked.

Byleth released an amused breath. “Bernadetta, what have I said about eating at night?” she asked, not unkindly.

The Adrestian student shuffled into the dim light, red faced. “That it causes indigestion,” she murmured, hands wringing the hem of her sleep shirt. “I’m s-sorry, Professor! I just don’t have the courage to eat in the dining hall with _everyone—”_ she shuddered “—yet.”

The blue-haired woman fixed her with an intent stare, and Bernadetta squirmed. She turned back to her work. “There’s some leftover bread and cheese in the pantry.”

“Ohhh, thank you Professor! I’m really sorry that I’m such a bother. But you’re always so patient with me! I promise I won’t disturb you again!” Bernadetta scurried to the pantry and snagged her snacks, then scampered back to her dorm room. It wasn’t until her door was closed that it occurred to her how strange it was to see the professor still at work at such a late hour.

Once the reclusive student left, Byleth continued reading. After a few pages, a year popped up beside the date, marking a string of abnormally long entries.

_Day 11 of the Lone Moon, year 1156._

_Rain, cold. Rhea introduced me to a nun called Sitri. She apparently transferred from the Western Church territory up near Lake Teutates. Rhea requested I tell the girl tales of my adventures outside the monastery. Not the weirdest thing she’s asked me to do, but it might tie for third. Unsure which story I should start with. Maybe the time I went on a bender and ended up in Sreng..._

...

_Day 20 of the Harpstring Moon, year 1157._

_Sun’s out. Been grounded for the most part lately – not much fighting to do. Sitri insisted I help her in the greenhouse today. Didn’t realize flowers could be hard work. Felt good to do something with my hands other than fight. After training, she came by my room with a bouquet made from the flowers I’d helped her with. Lilies and forget-me-nots._

...

_Day 7 of the Garland Moon, year 1157._

_Balmy weather today. Picked hydrangeas on my way back to the monastery. Couldn’t resist, they’re Sitri’s favorite. Selfish of me, but I love seeing her smile. It could enchant greater men than me. Might need to ask Rhea for her permission. After everything I’ve done for her, I think she’d have to assent. If it’s not what Sitri wants, I’ll leave it at that._

The entry ended there. Byleth blinked and re-read it, squinting. It was the floweriest version of Jeralt she’d ever seen. She tried to recall what Rhea had said, in those brief unguarded moments of grief soon after Byleth had returned from the chapel. _Your mother was my…_ Who was Sitri, to Rhea? If she’d been a nun at the monastery, it was possible she and Rhea had been close. Perhaps Sitri had been her ward. That could explain the “permission” part.

Still, Byleth had a niggling feeling that Sitri was closer than that to the archbishop. The Aelfric incident down in Abyss had revealed much, especially how deeply Rhea had cared for the woman. Enough to magically preserve her body, so she might look upon it whenever she wanted. Byleth shuddered.

Right. Back to the journal. It appeared Jeralt was intent on marrying Sitri, even though he’d only known her for a few months. There was something pretty romantic in that, she had to admit. At first, she couldn’t think of anyone that she felt so strongly about. Yet certain ice-blue eyes rose in her mind, unbidden. Her cheeks grew hot and she pushed _those_ complicated feelings into a corner of her mind, where they could be appropriately neglected.

Byleth sighed. So far, the journal was annoyingly vague – in true Jeralt fashion. She had more questions now than before she’d started reading. But she had no intention to stop now. She smelled smoke, and glanced up to find the candles had snuffed out. No wonder it was darker. Without a second thought, she sketched a sigil in the air, a minor light cantrip. A small glowing orb manifested, casting coldish, blue light over her.

_Day 31 of the Blue Sea Moon, year 1157._

_Married Sitri today. Again, Rhea insisted, despite today being the Goddess’s Rite of Rebirth. Feels like a dream. My words can’t do her beauty and kindness justice. Suffice it to say, I will do everything I can to make her smile, again and again._

The simplicity of his love was its strength. Byleth found herself smiling involuntarily at the pages that clumsily described her mother’s beauty. _Hair the color of nori, and eyes like starlight – especially when she laughs._ The following entries appeared to document Jeralt’s marital bliss, in a day-to-day manner. He began having weekly dinners with Rhea and his wife. Things seemed to be running smoothly at the monastery.

By the Horsebow Moon of 1158, he was made Knight Captain of Seiros.

It wasn’t long before she’d caught up to the entries about her birth. It was heart-wrenching to read that Jeralt was away from the monastery when her mother went into labor, a whole month earlier than expected. And upon returning, he learned that his wife had died and in her place was a silent, freakish newborn with no heartbeat.

She pressed a hand to her chest. There was a subtle thrum, a “pulse,” so to speak. But none of the characteristic _ba-dum, ba-dum_ that she’d felt countless times when laying hands during faith training with Manuela. She didn’t like to think about it.

Instead, she pondered the discrepancy of her birthday. Jeralt wasn’t much for gifts, but every year before they came to the monastery, he wrangled the troops and threw a raucous pub party for her. But she’d always thought it was the 31st day of Guardian Moon, not the 20th of Horsebow Moon. He'd even refused to tell her _how_ old she was, despite her pestering. Her reasoning was that Jeralt had been paranoid about Lady Rhea finding them, if he gave too much away. It wasn’t very satisfying, though. And it meant she would turn twenty-two in seven months, instead of at the end of this one.

Speaking of Lady Rhea – “She’s a bit of a witch, isn’t she?” Byleth rolled her eyes at Sothis’s reappearance. “I sense great power within her. And an overwhelming sadness.” There was a strange sense of care in her words.

“My father was not a fan of her, in the end,” Byleth remarked, pointing to an entry: _Now I_ _’m terrified of her_. “Sometimes she gives me the creeps.” She again thought about the revelations in Abyss, and shivered. It suddenly felt much colder.

Sothis sat on the table, legs folded beneath her. She tapped her chin and pursed her lips. “Yes… at times, it seems as though she herself is a relic from a lost age.”

The blue-haired woman squinted at her. “Why do you always speak in riddles?”

“No riddles here,” Sothis said defensively, crossing her arms, “I merely tell you what I observe.”

Byleth waved a dismissive hand at her—which earned her a sharp “Hmph!”—and returned to the journal.

This section spanned quite a few years; the entries were short and spotty, sometimes just one word – a simple weather description. He was obviously hurting.

Then suddenly:

_Day 31 of the Guardian Moon, year 1169._

_Lots of snow. She looks more like her mother with each passing day. I cracked a joke and could have sworn she smiled, just like Sitri. Damn, I miss her._

Then, as she turned the page, she discovered a square divot cut out of the remaining pages, rendering the rest of the entries useless. It contained a small piece of carefully folded parchment. She rested the book on her lectern and removed the parcel, unfolding it as gently as possible. It appeared quite old, the edges frayed. “Oh!” she gasped. It was a portrait of her mother, lovingly sketched and faithful to its beautiful subject. And nestled inside was her father’s wedding ring – silver, with purple and blue iridescent stones.

_One day, I hope you’ll give this ring to someone you love._

And with that, tears pricked Byleth’s eyes once more. “Damn it, Dad,” she whispered. A teardrop landed on the page, and she hastily wiped it away, smearing the word _passing_. “Damn it! How could you have known I’d find this, or that I’d even want to read it?” The question was pointless, voiced to his silent ghost. Yet the answer was clear – he knew and loved his daughter, better than anyone.

“Is someone there?”

Byleth jolted and shut the book, ring and portrait still inside, tucking it in her lap beneath the table. “Seteth? It’s just me,” she said, a calm mask immediately back in place. Then she realized her light cantrip had long since expired, and the soft purplish light surrounding her was the early sunrise.

Rhea’s advisor was impeccably dressed, as always. He held up a candle holder, the light from which illuminated the disapproving look on his face. His obviously poor opinion of her nocturnal habits didn’t stop him from nodding at her politely. “Professor. Did you stay up through the night?”

Byleth stifled an exhausted yawn and rubbed the back of her head. “Not intentionally. I… got caught up reading a good book.” Before he could respond, she asked, “Do you always get up this early?”

He sniffed, then turned to the kitchen counters, where servants had already begun preparing breakfast. “I relish a quiet meal first, to start the day off right.”

“Oh. That’s not a bad idea.” Embarrassed to be caught, the young professor began organizing her papers and putting them in her satchel. She stealthily slid the journal in last and fastened the clasp. “I should probably get back—!” she stopped short when he set a plate of savory muffins, goat cheese, and pomegranate seeds in front of her, alongside a cup of something dark and steaming. A quick whiff indicated it was coffee. Her nose crinkled ever so slightly, the only sign of distaste on her face; she much preferred tea.

“Given that classes start in an hour, I’d power through it,” he said wryly, gesturing to the cup once he sat across from her with his own platter and mug.

She thought she’d die from mortification when her stomach rumbled in reply.


	4. Caprice in Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri starts some wholesome scheming, while the rest of the Faerghus Four worry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you all so much for the kind words! I love hearing what you think :)

Two weeks into the Guardian Moon, Dimitri decided to hold an impromptu meeting with his classmates. They were entering the initial phase of advanced certifications, so finding time to meet altogether was nearly impossible. It was a Friday afternoon, and miraculously everyone was free to meet up before the dinner bell. They all crowded into Dimitri’s dorm room – a tight squeeze, with people spilling onto the floor and his bed. He offered others his chair, but they’d turned it down, insisting he use it. He couldn’t very well say no.

Felix and Annette cut it close, just finishing their share of garden bed maintenance for the week.

“You stink,” Sylvain remarked as they filed into the room. A bead of sweat rolled down Felix’s throbbing temple.

“At least I got off my ass today,” he bit back with a scowl.

“I just don’t understand how you could work up such a sweat in the dead of winter.”

“Piss off,” the nascent swordsman barked.

“That’s Faerghusi blood for you,” Ingrid laughed. Annette blushed and discreetly peeled the collar of her jacket away from her neck to sniff. Mercedes offered her a damp handkerchief to wipe the green stains from her hands, perennially thoughtful.

A storm had nestled itself between Felix’s brows, and he opened his mouth to retort.

Dimitri cleared his throat and the bickering quieted. “All right, since we don’t have much time, I’ll get right to the point. The professor’s birthday is at the end of the month, and because of… recent events, I was thinking we could get her something.”

A chorus of exclamations erupted—“Oooh, that’s a great idea”—“Maybe we could make her something”—“I could take her to dinner”—“An embossed knight’s tale might be nice”—Their enthusiasm surprised a small chuff of laughter from Dimitri.

“Did you have an idea, Your Highness?” Ashe asked.

“Oh! Right, I’ll show you.” Dimitri dug into his breast pocket and pulled out a square of folded polishing cloth. He placed it on his knee and gingerly unwrapped it. His classmates craned their necks to peer at the item revealed: a simple silver brooch in the shape of a lion’s roaring head. Its face was lacquered a pretty blue.

“That’s… nice,” Ingrid said vaguely. Dimitri frowned. He thought it looked quite good – he’d commissioned it from the monastery’s blacksmith and paid a jeweler finish it in town. It’d eaten up his monthly stipend, actually.

“Here I thought it’d be a ring,” Sylvain crowed, immediately followed by an “Ow!” when Ingrid smacked the back of his head.

“You’re unbelievable,” Felix mumbled, adding an elbow to the barrage. Annette dissolved into a soft pile of giggles.

“I thought a brooch would be more practical, especially in battle,” Dimitri said defensively, perplexed by their comments. Several of his classmates—the girls in particular—exchanged knowing, exasperated looks. Mercedes’ earlier observations were shared, apparently. “Although I agree, I don’t think it’s enough to express our appreciation for her.”

“Perhaps we could bake her a cake,” Dedue offered, patient as always.

“I’d love to help with that!” Mercedes chimed in. “Ashe and Annie, would you help, too?”

“Of course!” The two said in unison. “My parents taught me their vanilla cake recipe,” Ashe added bashfully.

“Oh, I’m so excited! I can make the icing – we’ll have to decide on a filling, too!” Annette was already abuzz with ideas.

“But that leaves us three out,” Sylvain observed. “I’m terrible at baking.”

“I don’t like sweets,” was Felix’s unhelpful input.

“Would you stop being such a curmudgeon?” Ingrid implored, already knowing it was useless. “I’m sure we could think of something,” Her face scrunched in thought. After a moment of bated breath, she brightened and held a finger up. “Ignatz!”

Sylvain squinted at her. “What’s an ignatz?”

Ingrid glared back. “Somehow you know the name of every girl in town, but you can’t be bothered to remember a _classmate_?”

Understanding dawned on his face. “Oh, you mean the scrawny kid from Golden Deer, the one with the glasses?” He nodded, rubbing his chin and hoping her logic would click, then sighed. “Still have no idea what he has to do with this.”

“Well, the professor loves art,” Ingrid started off slowly, “and Ignatz is a great painter. I saw him working on a portrait in the cathedral; it was beautiful.” _Before I messed_ _up_ _his concentration with my untrained input_ , she remembered with more than a little embarrassment. “Maybe the three of us could chip in for a small piece?”

“Oh, Ignatz’s art is so lovely!” Mercedes agreed. “Does he do still-lifes? Professor Byleth loves lilies and forget-me-nots.”

Ingrid nodded eagerly. “A bouquet that lasts forever! That’s perfect!”

Seeing Ingrid’s eyes glint when she talked about Ignatz’s work made something burble uncomfortably in Sylvain’s chest, but he shoved that _right_ back into the depths. “That’s… not a bad idea,” he managed.

Felix was doubtful. “Will he even have time to spare? The professor’s birthday is barely two weeks away.”

“That’s surprisingly thoughtful of you, champ,” the redhead teased, patting his childhood friend on the shoulder. The Fraldarius heir grunted and shrugged him off.

“If it’s small enough, I think he could manage,” Ingrid said. “Anyway, I don’t have much in the way of money,” she continued, pink rising on her face, “but I could take on some of his chores for the next few weeks, which would probably help – if I remember correctly, he has stable duty soon.”

Sylvain waved a hand, “You’re already doing too much as it is, on top of prepping for your falcon knight exams. I can cover you—!” but Ingrid shook her head, and the redhead deflated a bit, a tinge of hurt in his warm brown eyes.

“I have to agree with Mercedes; that’s a great idea,” Dimitri cut in before it became an argument. “Before you get too far in the planning, though, let’s ask if him if he can do it. Ingrid, could I leave that to you?”

“Of course,” she said immediately, her excited smile burning away any errant clouds.

The class quieted for a moment, contemplating their plans, then Annette’s hand shot up.

“You don’t have to raise your hand, Annette,” Dimitri said, hiding a smile.

“Oh, right. Well, I was wondering—should we make them a surprise? The cake and presents, I mean.”

Did their professor like surprises? He wasn’t sure. “Would that be too much?”

“I think she’d like it,” Ashe said excitedly with a fist-pump for emphasis. “We could bring her to the cafeteria and show her the cake there! And share it with her while she opened her presents!”

Dimitri was secretly elated that his little scheme was being accepted so warmly by his classmates. “Brilliant plan, Ashe.” He clapped his hands together decisively, “It’s settled, then. I think that’s everything…”

The Blue Lions dissolved into excited chatter as they trickled out of Dimitri’s room. All except Felix. Dedue stood in the doorway, a question in the lines of his face. Dimitri shook his head, and the Duscurian simply nodded and left.

Dimitri stood from his desk chair, folding his arms. “Is something the matter?” He asked politely. His eyes narrowed as Felix went to close the doors, likely to avoid prying eyes or ears.

The Fraldarius stood facing the doors for a moment before wheeling around sharply. “Drop the act,” he began, brows knitted with anger. “What’s your problem?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m not your dumb and blind manservant, boar. You’re cracking. How long has it been since you slept?”

Dimitri’s jaw clenched at the jab at Dedue, but he let it go. “I’m still sleeping.”

Felix folded his arms in return, mirroring the prince. “Hardly.” When he didn’t answer, the dark-haired teenager scowled. “You’re going to get yourself killed, you know that, right?”

Felix was nothing if not observant. Dimitri had become more reckless in their auxiliary skirmishes, but his lance’s deadliness had only grown. There was a familiar savagery to his attacks, now. And he was only getting worse.

“I won’t.” Surprise fell over the swordsman’s face at Dimitri’s gritted-teeth response. “I’ll do whatever I must to stay alive. To avenge them.”

Felix shook his head, angry mask back on. “How many times do I have to say it before it gets through that thick skull of yours? Revenge doesn’t bring the dead back. They don’t care about the living.”

That struck a nerve. “You don’t have the right to tell me how to fulfill the wishes of the dead,” Dimitri snapped, unthinking. At the thunder in Felix’s eyes, he knew immediately he’d misstepped. His headache returned.

“Don’t I? Glenn was _my_ brother. Not yours.” It stung deeply, and the prince grimaced. Glenn’s laugh echoed from somewhere behind him.

“Don’t shout. That’s not what I meant--”

“Don’t put your words in his dead mouth. He can’t speak, and he doesn’t care. None of them do.” Felix sighed and ran a hand over his hair, irritated. “Don’t get yourself killed for the stupidest reasons, boar.”

Dimitri opened his mouth to respond, then deflated. He managed a weak chuckle, and Felix shot a confused glare at him. “You have the strangest way of telling people you care about them, Fe.”

The other teenager bristled. “Don’t call me that!” Before his liege lord could say anything, Felix wheeled and yanked open the double doors, slamming them behind him.

Outside, Ingrid and Sylvain hovered at the edge of the landing. He briskly walked past them down the hallway, and they followed him to the stairwell without speaking until Sylvain grabbed his arm.

The Fraldarius heir turned, ready to yell at him, then hesitated. It was evident they’d heard everything when Felix saw the concern brimming in their wide eyes. He could’ve sworn there were tears in Ingrid’s, as well, but she was fighting to hold them back. “Is he—?” the blonde didn’t finish the question, as though she thought voicing it would make it true. _Is he getting worse_?

Felix sighed and ran a hand through his hair again. It was now more unkempt than usual; it flagged a direct correlation to his rising worry. He’d lost his temper. Lines of tension were still etched into the planes of his face. “Yeah.”

“Oh no,” Sylvain breathed. And the three of them stared at each other like that for a while, paralyzed by the fear that they wouldn’t be able to save him from himself, just like last time.

The prince, now alone, took in a deep breath, striving for calm. He stalked over to his desk and poured himself a glass of water. As he lifted it, he noticed his hand was shaking. In attempting to halt the tremor, he gripped the glass too hard and it shattered, water falling on his chair and mingling with the shards in the carpet.

His headache worsened.


	5. Jour de Fête

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which surprise birthday plans are executed, and Byleth remains in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I friggin love vignettes. Enjoy the Blue Lions + other randos having fluffy moments together. I have one more chapter of fluff planned before shit gets real (we will enter rated M territory soon [uh oh!]) so enjoy it while it lasts >:)

Ignatz was working on homework – a paper outlining the practical usage of ice magic in a long-distance skirmish – in his quarters when he heard a sudden knock at his door.

“Come in,” he said, pen pausing.

The blonde falcon knight from the Blue Lions House opened it, peering around as she stepped inside. “Hello, Ignatz! How’s it going?” She asked cheerfully.

“Oh, hi Ingrid! I’m pretty good, just wrapping up this paper for my reasoning class.” He set his pen down and stood, chair scraping against the stone floor. “Did you get my note?”

“Yes, actually! Are you really finished with it?” Ingrid’s green eyes were wide, and slightly disbelieving. “Not that I don’t think you could do it that fast! It’s just that it’s only been a few days, so if you need more time…” she trailed off as he walked to a desktop easel on the counter, nestled between fletching materials and a pile of art history books. A small wood panel sat on it, facing away from them so as not to betray its subject right away.

“I won’t bore you with the details, but oil paint will dry quickly when mixed with the right solvents! And I had a lot of fun with this one; not only was it good practice, but I liked doing it,” he said softly as he turned the panel around to reveal his work.

Ingrid’s mouth formed a small “o” when she saw the finished painting. It was small, but all the more lovely for it. Ignatz had used lilies, forget-me-nots, and lavender for his portrait study. They were gathered with a pale blue ribbon, satiny and soft-looking. They rested on a navy roughspun tablecloth. He’d done a great job capturing the different textures of the flowers and their surroundings. A tiny “I. Victor 1180” was scribbled neatly in the corner. Despite the relative simplicity of the subject, Ingrid thought her professor would love it.

She then realized she’d been silently staring at it, and meanwhile Ignatz grew progressively more nervous. He wrung his hands and his face was falling into something like a grimace the longer she stared. “W-what do you think?” he managed.

She shook herself, and laughed self-consciously. “I’m sorry! That was rude of me – I think it’s perfect!”

The assassin-in-training deflated with relief. “Oh, thank goodness. I mean, thank you! I’m so glad you like it!”

“I think the professor will be thrilled,” she added. She pulled a small purse from her skirt pocket, the coins within clinking. “How much do I owe you?”

The amateur painter waved his hands hurriedly, “Oh, I can’t take your money! It was an honor to help. I’m not really an artist, anyway.” She leveled a frank stare at him and his cheeks turned a soft shade of pink.

“There’s no way I can take this for free,” Ingrid insisted.

Ignatz opened his mouth to respond, then went silent, an uncertain look on his face. He couldn’t tell her that Sylvain had come by hours earlier and paid him well for the work, despite his feeble yet sincere protests (the redhead wouldn’t take no for an answer). Because with one foot out the door, Sylvain had made him swear on his family name not to breathe a word of his visit and its purpose to Ingrid. “And whatever it takes,” he’d said, brown eyes glinting dangerously, “do _not_ let her pay.” Ignatz wasn’t sure why the Gautier heir had been so insistent, to the point of implying _or else_. So at present, he racked his brain for a reasonable excuse.

“I really don’t feel comfortable with a fellow student paying _me_ for something,” he squeaked. The hypocrisy of the white lie made him die a little inside, but he’d have to grin and bear it.

Her brow furrowed. “But I’d like to compensate you for a job well done. Better than well done! It’s the right thing to do.”

“Um, well, if you’d like – I have stable duty next week,” he offered lamely. “I really do prefer the other chores… perhaps we could trade?”

She pondered his offer momentarily, then shook her head. “I can’t do that.” Ignatz’s stomach dropped; he didn’t know what else to do. Then she said: “I’ll just pick it up outright for you!”

He held in a sight of relief, just barely. He had to keep up the farce. “Are you sure? I really don’t—!”

“Yes, absolutely! Let me do this for you, at the very least.” She smiled at him, then offered a hand. He took it gladly; she had a firm handshake. “Thanks for doing business with me.”  
  


That surprised an embarrassed chuckle out of him. “I suppose you’re welcome, although I’m not really a professional—”

“Ignatz.” The blonde was staring at him intently. “I commissioned you for a work of art. That makes you a real artist, in my book.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, but as her hand fell away from his, he felt heat suffusing his face. To disguise the blush, he quickly turned and began wrapping the painting in butcher’s paper he’d snagged from the kitchens. “Th-thank you, Ingrid,” he murmured.

“No problem—you’ve earned it,” she replied. “I’m honestly a little envious of Professor Byleth; she’ll have one of your originals, now!”

Ignatz thought he might die. His heartbeat was in his head now. “Thank you again!” was the only thing he could say. He handed her the portrait, now wrapped and completely nondescript.

She gave him a slight bow and, holding the gift protectively in her crossed arms, left his room, oblivious to the consternation of her red-faced classmate. All she could think about was how well her class’s plans were going.

* * *

A few days later, Byleth was at the blacksmith’s stall in the market picking up her reforged gauntlets when she spotted Felix. This was strange, as she rarely saw him anywhere outside the training grounds or cafeteria, let alone an artisan craft stall.

She ambled over, her new silver gauntlets under one arm. He was inspecting some nice-looking frames. “Good morning, Felix,” she began, and he turned abruptly, glaring at her. “Are you buying décor for your room?”

“Yes,” he said, but nothing further. It wasn’t unlike him to be brusque, but the current context of their surroundings gave her pause. She raised a brow.

“You look a little out of your element,” she said.

The glare retreated a bit as he hesitated. “I am,” he replied. “My father sent me a painting, and I think it needs a frame. Don’t really know where to start, though.”

She was surprised to see this softer side of her oft-prickly student, and liked the notion that he was on better terms with Rodrigue after their recent mission in Fraldarius territory. “What are the piece’s dominant colors?” she asked.

He was silent for a moment, as if internally debating something. “White and blue,” he finally said.

Byleth pursed her lips. He wasn’t giving her much to work with. Typical Felix. She stepped closer to inspect the frames where he stood. “Smallish?” he nodded. “I like the pewter ones,” she said, gesturing to the muted silvery-tan frames on the lower shelf. “They’re also cheaper than gilt.” The upper shelves held more glitzy frames with complex woodworking and decoration.

“I see.” Felix squatted to look closer at them. “Thanks,” he said, a cue that the conversation was over.

“Any time.” When he didn’t respond, his professor shrugged to herself and added, “I’ll see you at training later.” As her footsteps faded into the general market noise, he let out a pent up breath. That’d been close. He was tempted to yell at Ingrid about her insistence that he had to be the one to find a frame. The professor was correct – he stuck out like a sore thumb in this area of the market.

He picked up one of the frames – pewter with tasteful braid-like trim. After a brief transaction with the friendly stall-keeper, it was his. Felix had no interest in art, but he could appreciate the skill and effort many artisans employed. In that way, it was a lot like honing one’s weapon prowess. So he understood why the professor found it fascinating: a person pushing forward and practicing his or her craft every waking moment in order to achieve mastery.

Then, he cringed as he abruptly recalled the excuse he’d made up when Byleth asked what he was up to. Why did his father come to mind? Felix typically tried to think about him as little as possible. He carried too many buried feelings about his family to deal with efficiently, so he didn’t like the idea that his resolve to hold Rodrigue in contempt seemed to be weakening. He mulled it over as he walked back to the dorms. This little scheme they’d cooked up better be worth it.

* * *

The young professor decided to make lunch with Dedue and Mercedes. The two had become good friends over the past few months, especially when it came to cooking. Byleth saw nothing wrong about encouraging their friendship; even with Dimitri’s influence, Dedue didn’t have many other people in his corner. And Mercedes had a calming effect on everyone in her vicinity – probably due in part to her Crest of Lamine. As they finished baking the queen loach, Byleth noticed Ingrid and Felix at a table, heads bent together, engaged in what looked like a fierce whispery argument.

“What’s up with them?” she asked Dedue.

Mercedes shot him a glance, eyebrows raised, from behind their professor. Earlier that day, Felix had told Ingrid about the close call in the market. She wasn’t surprised if Ingrid was upset, or maybe nervous about being found out just a few days before the professor’s birthday. She wondered what Dedue would say.

The Duscurian’s impassive face showed no change when he looked at the pair. “I believe Felix forgot about a group assignment, and Ingrid is frustrated with him.”

“Really? That’s unlike him,” Byleth remarked, unconvinced. Dedue looked back at Mercedes, eyebrows knitted in reply. _Help me out,_ his expression said.

“Oh—Professor, I think the fish is ready!” She called, holding up the oven mitts.

Distracted from her inquisitive line of thought, Byleth pulled the cast-iron pan from the oven and placed it on the stovetop.

The white mage clapped, inhaling deeply. “It smells delicious! You’re so good with spices, Dedue,” she said.

Byleth’s eyes narrowed as she watched the gentle giant’s cheeks grow a tad pink. He ducked his head as he sprinkled fresh Morfis parsley on the dish. “Thank you, Mercedes.” He skillfully portioned their plates, and he asked Mercedes about where they should sit.

Their professor, on the other hand, took her meal and beelined for Felix and Ingrid, who were still arguing. Dedue watched helplessly, since he was carrying the other plates. So Mercedes frantically waved at them from behind the blue-haired woman, who seemed intent on peacemaking at this point, or at least figuring out what was going on.

The movement caught Felix’s eye, who immediately shut up. Ingrid followed suit not a moment later when Byleth settled in the spot beside her. “Is everything alright?” Their professor asked, already munching on her crispy queen loach and stewed vegetables.

“Um, yes, Felix and I just—” Ingrid stopped short, racking her brain for an excuse.

Felix muttered a curse under his breath; Ingrid was a terrible liar. Suddenly, Mercedes slid in beside him. “She’s just mad that he forgot about their reasoning assignment,” she teased.

The dark-haired teenager stared at her for a moment, failing to hide his surprise at her smooth improvisation. He recovered within seconds. “I can’t help that I’m not good at magic,” he said. “It’s swords or nothing, for me.”

Ingrid blinked at them like a startled owl, then shook herself. “Yes… Well, I’m terrible at it, too, but that doesn’t mean you can slack off. So we should get to the _library_ and _work_ on it.” She cleared her throat and stood up, eyeing the boy across from her meaningfully.

_If you lay it on any thicker, she’ll smell the ruse for sure,_ he thought as he picked up his tray. “Fine,” he said out loud. By this point, Dedue had joined them, his typical calm returned.

“Felix, before you go,” Byleth began, and the two froze. She was oblivious to their held breath. “If I were you, I’d give offense magic another chance. You seem to have an inborn talent for it, even if it seems like hard work now. Before you know it, you’ll turn a corner and find it complements your swordplay very well.” She punctuated her words with a small smile at the end.

The teenager blinked, then inclined his head. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said.

“And Ingrid,” deep sapphire eyes locked with pale jade ones. “Don’t be too hard on him.”

After a moment’s pause, Ingrid said, “Understood, Professor. I’ll do my best.” She nodded at her classmates, then the young nobles left. Once they were in the adjoining courtyard, Ingrid murmured, “That’s the first time she’s smiled in a while.” Felix said nothing, but he’d seen it too.

Back in the cafeteria, the remaining three dug into their meals.

“Strange to see them at odds like that,” Byleth remarked, tapping a finger against the table. “I didn’t realize the advanced exams were so stressful. Are you two having any trouble?”

Dedue shook his head slightly. “I believe you have prepared us well, Professor.”

“It’s true,” Mercedes added, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. “I’m going to try certifying for Bishop this weekend. I can’t wait!”

“Glad to hear it,” their professor said around a mouthful of vegetables.

Inwardly, the two students were immensely relieved that she hadn’t sniffed anything out, as far as they could tell. They ate the rest of their meal in comfortable silence.

* * *

The following Friday—the 30th of the Guardian Moon—Ashe and Annette bustled around the monastery kitchens; they’d just finished cleaning up dinner and were preparing the cake ingredients.

“Okay, we need eggs, butter, vanilla,” Annette rattled off the ingredients on her fingers as Ashe gathered them from the pantry, “sugar, flour, a little salt…” she trailed off, blue eyes narrowed at the messy notes. “Am I forgetting anything?”

“Baking powder and milk?” Ashe offered, embarrassed about his scrappy handwriting. “Sorry if it’s hard to read.”

“Oh, no, it’s totally legible!” Annette quickly reassured him, waving her hands and nearly knocking over the milk jug he’d placed on the counter; he caught the neck before it could slosh over. “Oops, sorry!”

“No need to apologize,” he replied, “I’m excited too!”

She smiled dazzlingly at him. “This will be so fun! I can read you the measurements while you assemble the wet and dry and ingredients. Piece of cake.” A few seconds passed before she realized her turn of phrase, and her infectious laugh had Ashe chortling in short order. “Sorry, that was cheesy,” she said, breathless after a fit of giggles. “We can’t forget the raspberry filling, either.”  
  


“Right,” Ashe said, patting the jar of reddish jam. “We can prep it while the batter bakes.”

Annette held up the jar, admiring its magenta contents. “Where’d you find this in the middle of winter, anyway?”

The commoner-turned-noble looked pleased with himself. “It was a hard barter, but I managed to get it for a decent price from a Derdriu merchant who came through town on his way to Enbarr.”

The black mage grinned at him. “You’re the Barter King, Ashe!”

The gray-haired boy shook his head, but his smile said otherwise. “We should probably get started.”  
  


They suited their respective roles: Annette, while physically clumsy, kept her thoughts organized if she put her mind to it, and Ashe skillfully mixed the batter and prepared the filling per her commands.

A few minutes after they’d put the cakes in the oven, Mercedes and Dedue arrived. “We brought the goods,” Mercedes said airily, lifting a garden basket onto the buffet counter.

It contained a variety of edible flowers – pansies, marigolds, red violets, and cornflowers, among others. “Oooh, these are perfect!” Annette held up a cornflower the same color as her eyes. “Was it hard to grow these, Dedue?”

“Not particularly,” he rumbled, gently lifting a pansy with large callused fingers. “The monastery’s greenhouse is well-equipped. And I used the extra time from picking up the professor’s duties to supplement.”

Mercedes began mixing the icing, and some powdered sugar had already found its way onto her cheek. “I’d never thought of you as the sneaky sort,” she teased.

“Nothing wrong with being resourceful,” Ashe said, peering into the oven.

“That’s true.”

Dedue favored Mercedes with one of his rare, soft smiles. He offered her a damp cloth and gestured to her cheek. She blushed, although Dedue took that to mean she’d simply exerted herself with the mixing. “I can whisk that for you,” he said. She took the rag and dabbed at her face, half-hiding behind it.

“I’d appreciate that,” the blonde woman said, her already breathy voice even higher than usual.

Annette watched this exchange with poorly concealed, astonished glee, but she managed to remain silent.

Once the cake was finished baking, they realized they had a few minutes of downtime before they could assemble and decorate it. Annette fidgeted with the raspberry filling; Mercedes snuck a spoonful of buttercream icing; Dedue and Ashe began cleaning up mixing bowls and utensils.

The girls were startled by a sudden throat clearing. Dusk light filtered in through the doorways and windows, casting golden rays on Sylvain’s already flaming hair and warming up his brown eyes. He leaned against the dining hall’s southern doorjamb, a jaunty crooked smile on his face. Both of his female classmates privately thought he looked quite handsome.

“Hello, my Blue Lion ladies! Is that for me? Kidding, kidding.” Until he opened his mouth.

“Good evening, Sylvain,” Mercedes said primly.

“Need any help?”

“I think we’ve got it, but thanks.” Annette’s words were polite, but her voice was a bit clipped. She was still annoyed with him about being good—no, _fantastic—_ at black magic, despite not putting _any_ effort in, _whatsoever_. Oooh, she wasn’t just annoyed, she was _furious_ —

“You could stand guard, if you’d like,” Mercedes offered, ever the diplomat. Annette’s fuming fizzled out, and she was left a bit dazed. The white mage handed Ashe the icing, who began applying it to the stacked cakes with an ease that could only come from practice.

The Gautier heir visibly pouted – his go-to guilt-trip when it came to women. “Really? Bouncer duty, that’s all I’m good for?” When she didn’t budge (despite his best googly eyes), he sighed and turned, shoulder against the door frame now. “If it helps ease your burdens in the slightest, I’ll do it, dear Mercedes.”

She smiled sweetly, although it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thank you.” She pulled a primrose from Dedue’s neat pile and nestled the bloom into a bare spot on the iced cake. The Duscurian added marigolds and cornflowers around it, then nodded approvingly.

They were distracted when Sylvain straightened without warning. Then suddenly—

“Sylvain, have you seen Ashe?” Everyone in the kitchen froze, stock-still like frightened deer. Byleth was out of sight, but she was close enough that her question easily carried to their ears.

“Oh, hello Professor!” The redhead rubbed the back of his neck, pretending to think. “Well, I’m pretty sure I saw him in the market earlier. Maybe he’s still there?”

“Really?” They heard her sigh. “I thought I told him...”

“That our class gets a monthly stipend for a reason?” Sylvain finished. “Yeah, well, he’s a stubborn mule when it comes to owing anyone money, even his professor.” Ashe flushed scarlet at that, and Annette’s disapproving stare could have bored holes through the noble’s back, if she cast a sigil.

“It’s unlike you to be disparaging of others. He’s modeling himself after the finest of knights.” Although the professor’s chiding was gentle, there was a steel certainty underneath that turned Ashe’s embarrassment to pride within seconds.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” He scuffed a boot against the cobblestone. “I’ll escort you to the market, to make it up to you.”

“That’s not necessary—”

“I insist.” With that, he shot an apologetic wink behind him— _Sorry, Ashe!—_ and was on his way, professor in tow.

The four students left in the kitchen remained silent for a few moments, then Dedue said, “It’s always surprising to be reminded that he _does_ have a heart.”

**Author's Note:**

> come hang out with me on [Tumblr](https://tenderpinch.tumblr.com).


End file.
